Author's note: Before you drag your keyboard onto your lap and write a comment, remember just three things. 1. This is fiction. 2. This is fantasy. 3. This is a fictional male's fantasy as I expect he might tell the tale, exaggerations and all.
*****
Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Maybe I should explain. A number of years ago, before I turned thirty, I picked up a book lying on a table at my girlfriend's apartment. It was a short discourse on how people react to other people and how different approaches affect them. The premise was that how people experience you transforms how they treat you in return and that different people have different triggering experiences of you.
There are a number of different approaches that will result in positive responses. The trick is to know which approach is the best with each person. Fortunately, there are only a few primary methods to gain a person's trust.
For example, many people are positively influenced by affirming their words and deeds. With these people, feeling accepted is experienced as good feelings and the person offering the positive feedback is immediately liked and trusted. Another person may respond to receiving gifts. The trick is to know what motivates the person and provide the appropriate inputs.
I borrowed the book and eventually broke up with the girlfriend. Gifts were her big thing and inconsistent with my small income.
I got pretty good at reading body language and offering the proper social offerings to each person. I practiced for so long it became natural to me. It was amazing how my associations with my friends, relatives and even strangers improved and flourished. The system worked with both men and women.
Unfortunately for me, I discovered my primary requirement was touch, physical touch. Touch is a touchy subject. The ability to offer the appropriate words or deeds to someone is socially acceptable and easy to provide. Touch, on the other hand, crosses a social line. Many people don't like to be touched and it's difficult to know without potentially disastrous results.
For me, shaking hands became a crucial element in meeting new people. Watching each new acquaintance as I shook their hand became a focus of my attention. How they shook hands told me a lot about whether further touching was possible. For instance, if they shook hands firmly or prolonged the handshake, it was a positive signal. On the other hand, if they had a limp handshake, extended their hand at arm's length or looked away while shaking told me to forsake further contact.
I also learned by watching each person interact with others. I learned a cheeky air kiss while leaning in was less inviting than a hug and a full body hug was really positive.
I found that women who liked to hug were my best opportunities for dating and, when I added showing real interest in their conversation, looking at them and nodding appropriately, the relationship blossomed.
Beginning with the handshake, I was able to progress to touching an arm, a hug, handholding over dinner and exploration of their naked assets. None of them lasted very long. Eventually, everyone had something irritating in their, or my, personality and one us opted out of the relationship. Fortunately, the sex was great, while it lasted.
In every case, however, I was the pursuer. I don't remember a time when one of the women actively made me the object of their interest, until I made the first move. Fortunately, dying changed all that.
Two years ago, I was on the golf course when lightning struck a nearby tree. It came out of nowhere, a clear sky, no thunder and, bang, I was flat on my back, unconscious. I was in the hospital for five days, three of them in a coma. The doctors told me my heart had stopped on the course and if my caddy hadn't known CPR, I would have died.
I recovered at home for another two weeks before I tried to socialize again. When I did, I went to my usual watering hole and sat with the blonde bartender. Monica listened to my story with the appropriate nods and smiles. We had a history that hadn't ended well but, somehow, we remained friends although we agreed never to be physical again, ever. During the conversation, I noticed an especially attractive earring she was wearing. I reached out and lifted it to see it better. While I held it, and her ear lobe, I complemented her on the beauty of the bauble. She smiled and thanked me for the complement. Touching her hand and then her ear lobe, seemed more tactile, even tingling, than previously, but I thought nothing of it at the time. The rest of the evening was uneventful and I went home alone.
I was back three days later. Monica was her usual friendly self. A good bartender and a great listener. Four days after that, she still a good bartender and great listener but seemed to spend more time at my end of the bar than usual.
By the tenth day, Monica was spending all her time talking to me. She was getting complaints from others at the bar and was late in serving the customers. She was different. More touching. More involved. Sexier. About three hours after I got there, she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I need to fuck you, soon."
Her break relief came in about a half hour later. On her way to the back, she passed me and whispered, "Follow me."
I did. Why not? I had nothing to lose and based on how she was acting, everything to gain. She'd been very clear about her intensions and I hadn't been laid since before playing golf.
We went into a small, empty office in the rear of the building and she locked the door. She was on me before I could comment. She kissed me without hesitation and had her hand on my crotch at the same time. I leaned on the only desk and she had my cock out and in her hand, and mouth, seconds later. When she was satisfied I was ready, she stood up, lifted her dress, pulled down her panties and leaned over the desk. "Now," was all she said.
I entered her from behind and pumped away. I didn't last long. I apologized but she shook it off. "You'll do better next time," she said as she pulled up her panties and straightened her skirt. She left the room with me standing there with my limp cock poking out of my pants and dripping on the floor.
I organized myself and returned to the bar. Twenty minutes later, Monica came back on duty. I had another drink and stood up. Monica winked at me as I left.
At home I thought about what had happened. I couldn't figure it out. A week later, I was back in the bar. Monica was her usual self. She acted as if nothing had happened and I didn't bring it up. Her comment about "next time," seemed forgotten.
I couldn't get it out of my mind. Eventually, I remembered the difference in the feel of touching her although I couldn't believe there was a connection.
I was back in the bar again three days later. I experimented with touching Monica's hands as often as I could without seeming forward. Monica showed no change in mood. A week later, Monica was wearing another attractive set of earrings. I complemented her and touched one, and her ear lobe. Ten days later, we were in the office again.
I was completely mystified.
I experimented touching many of the bar regulars. I shook their hands and hugged them. I touched them on the arm or shoulder. Nothing developed, either immediately or after two weeks.
The next time I was in the bar, I noticed a cute brunette as she came into the bar. I'd never seen her before but I noticed her demeanor as she greeted several men and one woman as she walked to a booth on the wall.
Monica walked over and took her order. I took the drink from Monica and walked over to her booth. "Hi, I'm Tim," I said as I put the drink on the table and out my hand to shake hers. She looked up. "Thanks," she said. "Linda."
"Mind if I sit down?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"I haven't seen you here before," I said lamely.
"I haven't been here before," she replied.
"Then, why today?"
"I needed a change of scenery."
